


Heroes and Villains:  Of Accidents and Attraction

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Heroes and Villains AU, Hurt/Comfort, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 13:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7269991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further shenanigans of The Captain and The Siren.  Abbie gets injured and guess who has to take care of her?  And guess what else... she ain't having it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes and Villains:  Of Accidents and Attraction

Just when he thought it was safe to consider the Masons his friends... they were gone. He had made chase of the Siren as she sprinted across the property, key to the underworld in hand, cackling tauntingly as she disappeared into the forest. She was surprisingly fast for someone with such tiny legs and despite his using his best efforts—and tracking skills—to locate her in the forest, he had been unable to do so.

When he returned to the Masons manor... they had all been beheaded by the Horseman. Ichabod wasn't certain why it surprised him. Moloch had been annoyed with the Masons since the beginning and they hadn't exactly been welcoming of Moloch or the Horseman themselves. But, in the battle between mortals and immortals... Ichabod would definitely put his bets on those who could not be killed.

He had mutely wandered out into the street, nearly getting run over by one of the modern carriages. The driver, a tall young woman jumped out of the driver's seat. “What the hell is your problem?” she snapped.

“My associates have been... My friends...” he said, still in somewhat of a daze. “I need the police.”

It was officially the most contact he'd had with someone outside of the Masons or the mental institution. The young woman pulled what Ichabod knew to be a “cell phone” from her pocket and put in a call. “Hey, Janelle, this is Jenny Mills... the crazy guy at the freemason's manor just walked out in front of my car.”

If he hadn't been bewildered, he would have been offended. Regardless of what everyone seemed to think, he was _not_ crazy.

“No, no, he's fine,” Miss Jenny said, eyeing him suspiciously. “He said he needed the police. Something to do with his friends... I don't know.” She lowered her phone. “What's going on with your friends?”

“They're... They've been murdered.”

  
#  


Abbie peered from the back seat, between the front row seats. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on. She just knew Crane had been annoyed when he hadn't been able to locate her in the woods and stomped back toward the manor. Now he looked... deflated. Like he was about to be sick, even.

After a moment, he and Jenny stalked toward the manor. Abbie quickly finished changing clothes, hissing uncomfortably when her hair got tangled around the thin elastic string that kept her mask in place. She needed to do something about that.

When Jenny and Crane returned, he stood outside of the car and Jenny slipped back into the driver's seat. “What's going on?” Abbie asked.

“Looks like his Headless friend got jealous of the freemasons and killed them all while he was chasing you through the woods,” Jenny said lowly, Abbie could tell her sister's lips were barely moving. “They have some officers heading this way. Janelle wanted me to stay put until they got here.”

That couldn't possibly be a good thing, Abbie thought. She had her suspicions that the masons were one of the reasons he wasn't _diabolically_ evil. What if they had been taken out so the bad guys could use the other Witness to their own ends? 

“Cauterised?” Abbie asked. “Very little blood?” Jenny nodded cautiously. “Yep. That's Headless.” She had a feeling things were about to get really bad. 

Abbie stayed hidden even after the officers showed up. Jenny had to get out and answer a few questions about what she had been doing in the area to clear herself of being a suspect. 

_“You said you were in the woods looking for The Siren when it happened?” Abbie heard one of the officers ask the Captain. “Is it possible she might--”_

_“If you so much as suggest such a tiny woman could brutally murder seven men in the amount of time I was in the woods, I would suggest that you have_ yourselves _committed to Tarrytown for evaluation,” the Captain huffed indignantly, his voice just below being a shout. “I severely doubt she could wield a broad axe with the strength needed. She may be a menace but she is not a murderer.”_

Abbie arched her eyebrows in surprise. He was defending her? Interesting. At the same time she was a little offended, mostly because he was suggesting she couldn't swing a broad axe because of her being a 'tiny woman'. Well, to be honest she couldn't, not with the ease Headless could, but only because she lacked the training. All she needed to do was train a bit and she bet she could show his ass who couldn't 'wield a broad axe.'

  
#  


Ichabod staggered through the tunnels trying to get away. He tripped over old, discarded munition crates, falling in a heap on the ground. Before he could clamour to his feet he heard the echoing sound of boot heels on stone and looked over his shoulder just in time to see the silhouette of the Siren appear in the archway he had just passed through.

She moved slowly, taking her time as she carefully took the steps down to the level he was in. “I'm going to ask you again, Captain,” she said softly. “Why do you want the key? Or, maybe I should ask why your little girlfriend Molly wants it.”

“Would you _kindly_ stop calling Moloch, 'Molly',” Ichabod huffed. 

The Siren stepped up to him, placed her tiny foot between his shoulders, and pushed him down into the mix of dirt and stone. “Nope. I'm _done_ letting him have power over me,” she ground out. The heel of her boot dug into his back. “Now, why do you want the key so badly?”

Ichabod sighed and rested his forehead against the ground. “I have discovered that my wife is in Purgatory. Should I acquire the key, I can use it to bring her out without having to leave someone in her stead.” He winced when she dug her heel in harder. He quickly added, “That is why _I_ want it. Moloch desires it so... he can do the same for all of his minions. I had hoped to retrieve my wife without his knowing I had possession of the key then destroy it.”

“You're an idiot, you know that?” the Siren scoffed. “Do you really think he wouldn't know you had it? Or maybe he's wanting to use you to get it so he can take it from you?”

He hadn't thought of that. When she removed her foot from his back, Ichabod turned over and sat up. She had her hands on her hips, peering down at him. He was about to open his mouth to speak when a movement behind her caught his attention. 

Moloch came from the shadows silent as a wraith. Ichabod's eyes widened and before he could warn her, the demon took a swipe at her. A soft gasp escaped her lips as her body lurched and her knees buckled. Ichabod captured her in his arms, easing her to the ground as her eyes rolled back and she fainted. He was surprised at how light she had felt in his arms, as though a strong wind could lift her and carry her away.

Ichabod shifted her body enough to look at the deep gashes in on her back. His eyes fell to a black blade dagger with a bone grip tucked into a leather sheath, clipped onto the back of her trousers. The dagger she had driven into the demon's head weeks ago...

It felt like a blind rage had over taken him the moment he took the dagger from the sheath. Next he knew, he was tucking the dagger back into the sheath and Moloch was creeping into the darkness, screeching weakly and in pain. The small woman gasped softly when he drew her back into his arms. _She lived!_

But for how much longer was uncertain. Ichabod cradled her to his chest and clamoured to his feet. She was softly struggling for breath when he made it back to the mansion but it at least let him know she was still alive. And that was where he was at a loss for how to proceed. For starters, whilst he knew there had been many advancements in the field of medicine since his day, he had no idea what they were or if they were useful in any way for the current situation. 

Secondly... it would be incredibly inappropriate for him to... disrobe her for... tending her wounds... especially when, as previously mentioned, he had no idea what he was doing.

His hand went to his coat pocket and he quickly clamoured for the mobile device his departed freemason friends had gotten for him. He quickly found the name he sought. Ichabod had only met the young gentleman once before and very briefly. He selected the name and deftly pushed the green button to initiate the _call_.

After a moment, the line picked up. “Young Master Corbin... I am in dire need of your assistance and knowledge in modern healing methods.”

  
#  


_“No, no, no,” Ichabod said frantically. “Do not remove the mask...!”_

_“Why not?” Abbie couldn't help but think it sounded like Joe..._

_“I... feel... she should at least be conscious when I discover her true identity.”_

She felt like her skin was on fire and it felt like there was a heavy weight on her chest when she tried to breathe.

_“The fever finally broke... now it's just wait and see.”_

Abbie sat up with a sharp gasp, feeling more than a little disoriented. Her hand immediately went to her face. Her mask was a little crooked but otherwise in place. When she looked around the room, her eyes quickly adjusted to the pale moonlight filtering in through the window. 

She was near the edge of a huge, cushiony, canopied bed. On the bedside table there was mix of herbal and modern medicines, and evidence of magic having been worked. On floor was her boots, thoroughly shredded top, and blood soaked jeans. Abbie looked down and realized she had been re-attired in a shirt that almost swallowed her whole. It looked a lot like... one of _his_ shirts. When she rotated her shoulders to work out the stiffness, she could feel bandaging and medical tape holding it in place on her back.

How long had she been out?

Had that son of a bitch stripped her naked, bathed her, and put fresh clothes on her? _Oh hell no_ , she thought, suddenly feeling hyper aware of her surroundings and very angry. She didn't care if she had to take out an entire legion of demons and angels to do it, but she was going to hunt the Captain down, put some serious hurt on his ass, then find out what happened.

The first movement toward her discarded clothing made her wince painfully. Okay, so she'd hunt him down very slowly... and convince him to hurt himself—maybe throw himself down some steps or something. Or maybe just write him an IOU, then once she didn't feel like movement made her want to implode... she'd just come over and beat his ass at random.

Maybe he wouldn't already be plotting or scheming something that would make him deserving of it so she could tear up the IOU. And this was definitely going on his running tab for dinners he owed her... they were up to four.

Carefully, Abbie moved her feet over the edge of the bed and eased them down to the hardwood floors. It was almost as bad as waking up the morning after a night of drinking _after_ a night of thwarting the Captain and his band of misfits. Her jeans were too stiff from the blood to put on, so she just fished her lock pick from the back pocket.

Even if it took her all night, she was going to escape this place. But she still wanted to give the Captain a healthy piece of her mind. Even if it was with the best of intentions, she was _not_ going to let him get away with seeing her naked! She forced herself onto her feet, leaning against the bed for support as she found her bearings. 

Abbie felt like a puppet that had just learned it could walk without strings as she made her way to the bedroom door. An almost blinding pain seared up and down her spine with each step. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she realized the door wasn't locked. She thanked God for the small blessings.

The hallway was dark when she emerged into it. Except for a strip of bright light coming from underneath one of the doors. It felt like it took her an hour to reach the door that was only twenty feet away, if that far. She tested the door. It was locked. Locked doors in houses that belonged to bad guys were never a good thing.

She carefully knelt down and tried to focus on the lock, even though she could practically hear her pulse, thrumming in her ears in tune with the throbbing pain shooting down her spine. She smiled when it finally clicked. Abbie braced herself against the wall to climb back to her feet. 

It wasn't until she pushed the door open that she realized some locked doors were probably better left locked... especially when they went to a bathroom. Although she did get a rather... nice view before the Captain slipped and fell as he was frantically trying to pull on his trousers, taking the shower curtain and rod with him as he collapsed to the floor.

She was laughing so hard she didn't even notice the pain until she was cringing on the floor sobbing. Next she knew, she was being hoisted up bridal style and carried back to the room she had escaped from.

“You are by no means well enough to fight,” the Captain scolded lightly as he deposited her onto the bed. He leaned her forward and swore under his breath. “And you have caused your wounds to start bleeding.”

Abbie was fully prepared to argue as he lit an oil lamp sitting atop a large storage trunk. He then slipped onto the mattress behind her, pushed the back of the shirt up and onto her shoulders. She sucked in a breath and held it as he quickly peeled off the soiled bandaging. She softly hissed despite the fact he was surprisingly gentle as he cleaned up her injury and reapplied bandaging.

Once he was done, he promptly lowered the bottom of the shirt back down into place. He puts his hands on her arms and when he spoke again, she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Now, _do_ try to stay put. I shall fetch you something to eat. You've been unconscious for two days, I imagine you are quite famished.”

“I don't want your food,” Abbie scoffed. “You might have poisoned it.”

“I wouldn't struggle to make certain you stay alive for the sole purpose of poisoning you,” he pointed out as though it were obvious.

“Well how was I supposed to know?” Abbie asked. “I don't know how your evil little mind works.”

He let out an annoyed sigh and stood. “You are safe for the time being,” he said quietly. “ _Molly_ has retreated to Hell in order to recuperate from injuries of his own.”

Abbie felt one corner of her mouth pull into a half smirk. “I don't remember fighting with him.” She unintentionally let her eyes roam over the Captain. A very shirtless and tousled looking Captain—almost like he had fell off the cover of a cheesy romance novel. His longer hair was starting to dry into unruly curls. _That would probably annoy him_ , Abbie thought with amusement. Which was all nice and good because if she could do anything at all to annoy him it was a bonus.

“After he attacked you... I... may have taken the blade you were carrying and... gotten a little carried away,” he replied, his fingers fidgeting at his side. “I am not entirely certain what happened...”

Abbie nodded. “That's normal,” she said. “For you and me anyway... It was made by the Archangel Michael for the Witnesses to use. The hilt is made from the bone of Cain, the blade is what he used to slay Abel with. It has the disadvantage that... it sort of sends the Witnesses into a blind rage whatever they are angry at. I don't like using it but... I do what I have to.” She scowled when her stomach gurgled. “I thought you were going to go get me some food?”

He stared at her a long moment then murmured an apology and walked out of the room.

Abbie slowly took in the dimly illuminated room. It suddenly occurred to her that maybe _he_ hadn't fallen out of a romance novel... maybe _she_ had fallen into one. Everything about the room was painstakingly period accurate for the home. Except for the presence of unused power outlets, she could have easily been in the house back in its glory days. 

Part of her wanted to peruse the trunk because she had a feeling there would be something in it that she could use. But as soon as she made to move, the pain racking through her body made her settle against the fluffy pillows. The last thing she wanted was him to be pawing at her back again. 

Maybe it was just the fact she hadn't been with anyone romantically since all the Apocalyptic crap started happening, but she had enjoyed his fingers on her skin just a little too much for her liking. Now her head was re-writing everything to play with the romance novel idea. She made those thoughts screech to a halt when the bedroom door opened and Captain Crane came in with a tray laden with food. 

At least he had put on a shirt. But he was still barelegged from his knees down and he hadn't tied the shirt closed so there was still plenty of chest on display in the deep v-neck. “You look like a tall hobbit,” Abbie snorted. That successfully massacred the romance novel idea in her head and had it laying broken and beaten in the back corner of her mind.

He settled the tray atop the trunk, confusion on his face. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, more curious than insulted. “What, precisely _is_ a hobbit?”

“Tolkien? Middle Earth?” Abbie asked. “Massively long movies?” He still looked perplexed. “You've... never heard of The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings books?”

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. He reached over and plucked a roll from the tray and tore it open to laden it with chunks of meat and cheese. “I have not been exposed to many modern literary works since being released from Tarrytown. Although my dear friend, Nurse Latisha, has made me familiar with one incredibly witty authoress by the name of Jane Austen and a gentleman by the name of Jules Verne.”

He presented Abbie with his improvised sandwich. Abbie eyed it warily before taking it. She hated to inform him but Austen and Verne were not exactly _modern_ works in the purest sense. Then she remembered the guy was batshit crazy and thought he was a time traveller from Revolutionary America. So, maybe they did seem modern from his point of view.

Abbie nibbled on her sandwich quietly, keeping her eyes on the Captain, watching his every move. He kept all of his movements slow and cautious, as though not wanting to startle her into attacking him. She was exhausted by time she finished it. After a cup of water, along with some medications she knew to be antibiotics and pain relievers, she yawned and burrowed herself into the pillows. The Captain pulled the duvet over her and delicately tucked her in.

“Rest assured, Siren, no harm shall come to you whilst you recover,” he said softly.

“Why do you call me that?” Abbie asked sleepily. She didn't stay awake long enough to hear his response.

  
#  


On the third day of her recovery, she was glowering at him when he brought in her breakfast. “What have I done now?” he grumbled.

“Where are my clothes?” she demanded. She pointed to the spot on the floor where her clothes had been. “Why are my clothes gone?”

He set her breakfast tray on the trunk, brushed back the edges of his coat, and sat upon the edge of the bed. “Lest you forget, your shirt was ripped and your _jeans_ were covered with blood. I saw no reason to keep them in such a state.”

“That's not your decision to make, _Captain_ ,” she growled.

“Considering you were unconscious and under my care, I would say it was,” Ichabod scoffed. “Also, the blood was attracting flies.”

“More like it's your _fault_ I was unconscious,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.

“It's hardly my fault Molly snuck up behind you and attacked you,” Ichabod retorted. One corner of her mouth quirked with a smile. A dangerous little twinkle came to her eyes every time he used the 'pet name' she had bestowed upon Moloch.

“Guess that makes us even then,” she muttered. “I've seen you naked and you've seen me naked.”

“I have _not_ ,” Ichabod said pointedly. When she looked at him questioningly, he continued, “I have an associate or two that helped provide your medical attention. One of them brought his betrothed and she was more than willing to provide you with modesty when it was required.” His eyes flickered to her mask. “And rest assured your true identity is still safe.”

He picked up the bowl of oatmeal and fruit he had prepared for her. She cringed when she attempted to raise her arms to take it from him. With a pout, the Siren flopped back against the pillows, which made her give a weak “owwie” because the wounds on her back were still not completely healed. Served her well for being so stubborn.

“You are a terrible patient,” Ichabod commented.

“And you're a terrible villain,” she groused. “But you don't hear me complaining. Hell, I like the fact you are so easily defeated.”

Ichabod fed her the fruit and oatmeal despite the fact she looked like a severely petulant child scowling at him the entire time. “I am _not_ a villain, by the way,” he said to break the silence.

“You hang out with one of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and a demon,” she said flatly. “And it's not like you can say you have no choice, they literally live in your house. And don't act like I don't know Nearly Headless Nick stays in the tunnels during daylight hours.”

Ichabod opened his mouth to ask who the hell 'Nearly Headless Nick' was, but she spouted out the answer before he could gather the breath to speak.

“Harry Potter? The Gryffindor House Ghost?” she sighed heavily and hid her face in her hands. “Oh sweet Jesus... Are you seriously telling me you have no idea what I am talking about?” She lowered her hands and shook her head. “You know what? I'm just going to write you a list of books to read.”

Ichabod stared at the now-empty bowl in his hands. “Would a villain make absolutely certain you are safe and secure whilst recovering from a demon attack?”

“I didn't think they would but, hey, stranger things have happened,” she bit back.

“I cannot help it if my role in all of this is to simply _observe_ ,” Ichabod retorted. She tilted her head and eyed him curiously. “What?”

“Seriously? You can sit there, with a straight face and clear conscious, and say you have no desire what-so-ever to try and stop any of what's happening?” she asked.

“I was of the impression that the end would come regardless of any efforts to stop it,” Ichabod replied.

“So you don't even _try_?” the Siren scoffed. “You're honestly content just sitting back and watching the world fall to pieces?”

“Of course not,” Ichabod huffed. “But what _can_ I do? What could I possibly do to help when I would rather subject myself to a Headless monster and a demon rather than to venture out of doors. The Horseman and Moloch may be fearsome but what I have seen of _your_ world out there is ten-fold more terrifying than an army of Horsemen.”

The Siren sighed and shook her head. “By sitting back and doing nothing... you're just as bad as they are.”

He could very much see her prerogative on the issue. He had thought that way at first. But then it was proven to him time and again by the Freemasons and Moloch that it was pointless to fight. But it had been all he had known since awakening in this strange place. With the exception of one tiny glimmer of hope when he first arrived, he had experienced nothing which proved that he was anything other than powerless to do anything. “Perhaps I am,” Ichabod conceded quietly.

When she looked at him—fire in her eyes and that irritatingly regal jut of her chin—Ichabod was once again reminded of _someone_. He couldn't place who it was... or when he had met them. Was it someone from his past? Was it someone he had met recently? It was there at the very edge of his mind but for all he boasted about having an eidetic memory... this one was escaping him.

“Go away,” she said barely above a whisper.

“I--”

“ _Go. Away_.”

Ichabod swallowed hard, stood, and made his way out of the room.

  
#  


_Day 4_

Abbie didn't exactly appreciate being flung over the Captain's shoulder like a sack of potatoes and she made sure he knew it by punching his back as hard as she could while he carried her to her recovery room. At least until she sagged against him, breathless and weak from over-exerting herself.

When she had awakened that morning with minimal stiffness in her muscles, she had decided to try and make a run for it. But apparently the Captain was a very light sleeper and caught her before she could even make it down the stairs. And she refused to admit that his being able to catch her had anything to do with her knees giving out as she reached the bottom step.

“If you are not careful you are going to cause your wounds to start bleeding _again_ ,” he scolded. “And I do not have many extraneous shirts lying about for you to change into.”

“You're lucky I'm still not fully recovered or I'd kick your ass into next week for this,” she puffed as he set her down on the bed once again. He turned away to retrieve the items for changing her bandaging. A sudden burst of energy filled her and kicked him as hard as she could in the back of his knees and jumped onto his back, yanking hard on his ponytail as she tried to throw her weight around enough to drag him down.

She may have also bit him in the process. She wasn't entirely sure. All Abbie knew was that she tasted blood in her mouth and his neck was bleeding. She hoped against all odds she got the carotid artery.

After being whipped around a couple time like she was on a mechanical bull they fell onto the bed and the Captain pulled at her arms and legs trying to release himself from her grip. He gave a frustrated sigh. “Forgive me, Madam...” he huffed then shifted just enough that he could put the back of his shoulder against her breast and pressed his weight into it.

Abbie squealed and released him just so she could start swatting and punching him in the head. But it had the desired effect of letting him get free of her grasp, which he instantly used to his advantage to turn over to face her and pinned her wrists down on the bed. They were both panting heavily. “For God sake, woman, let me help you,” the Captain growled, his face barely an inch from hers.

Her heart skipped a beat as he stared directly into her eyes. _Energy levels failing_ , she thought and went limp with a sigh. She let her legs drop from around his waist, framing his hips with her knees. Between their current position—especially with her shirt hiked up to just below her breasts—and the way they were breathing heavily... some parts of her seemed to forget she was seriously injured.

So it was no wonder the door to the bedroom opened and, not one but, two familiar faces entered the room. Jenny and Joe froze. Abbie froze. The Captain froze, all as they regarded each other. Jenny looked ready to fucking murder the Captain. The Captain seemed to realize the very precarious state in which they were in, blushed, and clamoured from on top of her. 

Abbie sat up and shoved the tail of her shirt between her legs before anyone could get a good look at anything.

The Captain stood next to the bed awkwardly, one hand swinging lightly as his fingers flicked restlessly. “I assure you, the situation which you just witnessed was _not_ as it seemed,” he muttered, his face burning red. He looked at Abbie before guiltily glancing away. “Siren, I would like to introduce you to the two individuals which assisted with your initial care... Young Master Joseph Corbin and his betrothed, Miss Jennifer Mills.”

She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing her ass off. She wasn't sure if it was because he was literally introducing her to her sister or because she found the word 'betrothed' to be really damn hilarious. Thankfully the Captain seemed to read Jenny's incredulous expression to be resting bitch face and soon the sisters were left alone in the room when Joe insisted on tending the wound on the Captain's neck.

As soon as the door closed, Abbie pulled off her mask and rubbed her face. God it felt good to have that damn thing off. When she lowered her hands, Jenny frowned and touched a tender spot on the apple of Abbie's cheek. “You got to stop sleeping in that thing or at least take it off when he's not in the room with you,” Jenny scolded lightly. “And what the hell was that we walked in on?”

Abbie shook her head. “It was nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “He was just trying to help me.”

“Help you what?” Jenny groused. “Did you guys find out Moloch's scratches would make you die unless you had sex?”

“Haha, no,” Abbie said flatly. She held her mask in her hands. “I need to get a new mask.”

“Joe's offer to let you turn yourself into a masked heroine still stands,” Jenny commented. “Like Batman... with an investor.”

“Do we have someone that can make me some nifty gadgets?” Abbie asked. “I want a utility belt and something like the batarang...”

Jenny nodded lightly. “I might know a guy... But first... we have to make sure you get better.”

Abbie wrinkled her nose. “What are you guys doing here anyway?” Not that she wasn't grateful because she was pretty sure, despite her state, she would have been giving the Captain a proper welcome to the 21st century if they hadn't shown up.

Jenny shrugged lightly. “Joe got a call from Crane this morning saying he needed our assistance because you were trying to escape before being fully recovered. So we came right over.”

Shaking her head, Abbie chuckled, “I can't believe you two helped bandage me up and he has _no idea_ you know who I am.” She started laughing harder. “Oh God... this is hilarious. This is even better than when he knocked himself out with his own boobie trap last week.”

“Seriously?” Jenny asked, reaching over for the bandaging and ointments. “Knocked _himself_ out?”

Abbie nodded. “Yeah he was trying to set a trap for me and I startled him. It fell on him, knocked him out.” She shook her head. “He's the Doctor Doofenshmirtz to my Perry the Platypus.” Jenny looked like she suddenly had an ingenious idea. “What…? If you're going to suggest a tie, hat, and nothing else as my new costume... I will kick your ass,” Abbie grumbled. Jenny started laughing. “I can see it now... his ass would actually start making bigger threats and set off fireworks to draw my attention... only to blow them up himself once I got here.”

“I was going to say I had one better than him knocking himself out...” Jenny said. 

Abbie tilted her head with interest. “Do tell...”

“Well... Joe apparently mentioned that my darling older sister has decided to become a self-employed private investigator,” Jenny said, her voice just short of sing-song. “And guess who wants to hire her to find out the identity of The Siren?”

“Oh God... please don't... don't... I don't think I could survive laughing my ass off right now...” Jenny didn't have to confirm it for Abbie to start laughing hard enough to make her wounds start pouring blood.

  
#  


The Siren had needed over a week to recover from her injuries. After the first few days she had resigned to letting him and his associates help her. There had been no more fighting or wrestling when he tried to help her in their absence. Although hearing her and Miss Jenny's laughter echoing in the near empty corridors of the old manor had made him long for some kind of companionship.

A friend. A partner of sorts. Just someone with whom he could _talk_ to. Moloch had always been more for growling out orders than discussing the state of things. And the Horseman... well, his lack of a head made conversation rather difficult. Even the Freemasons had not been big conversationalists whilst they had lived. 

So far, the closet thing he had to a friend was Miss Latisha—although she stayed considerably busy with her work and seldom had time to pay visits—and Young Master Corbin. But even Mister Joe's visits were relegated to when Ichabod called for help. He didn't feel comfortable calling unless he required assistance. Ichabod was certain Mister Joe had a thriving life full of friends and work associates that were far more interesting to spend time with.

He had been dreading the coming day of when The Siren would be healthy enough to leave his care. And perhaps that was what had motivated his actions the morning she departed. Per usual, he had knocked and awaited her to permit his entry into the room. Also, just as all the mornings since she had calmed down and let him see to her medical needs, she was sitting in the bed—his bed to be precise—propped against the pillows. 

Her hair was in a gorgeous halo of curls from when Miss Jenny had assisted her with a bath the day before. Mask forever in place. As had become the custom, she begrudgingly let him feed her breakfast. “And how are you feeling this morning, Siren?” he asked once he set the bowl aside.

“Like I could take on the world and teach it a thing or two,” she murmured, her eyes flickering down his frame. Her devilish little touch darted out to moisten her lips.

Ichabod reached up with the intent to stroke her cheek and perhaps give some witty anecdote about her trying to fight the world. She grabbed his wrist and he found himself pinned down on the bed, her astride him. The Siren was certainly a beautiful sight in that moment. The shirt she was wearing draped between her legs, the neck of it untied and giving him an unencumbered view of the curve of her neck and shoulder—not to mention it also gave him a delightful view of her cleavage when she leaned her face down close to his.

“I've enjoyed your hospitality, Captain, but I've got things to do,” she purred. “Mostly preparing to stop whatever you're planning next.” She sat back upright, her eyes widening in surprise when she discovered how her current state had affected him. A cocky little smirk appeared on her lips. “I take it you like what you see?”

“I am certainly not complaining...” Ichabod replied darkly. He gave a soft gasp when she rocked against him. “That... is hardly... appropriate.”

“You started it,” she pointed out, wrinkling her nose cutely.

He would not be lying if admitted to thinking of himself and the Siren in such a compromised state. If he had means of retrieving his wife—his beloved, the woman he loved and held dear... and he was pretty sure he was listing those qualities more to remind himself that anything—from Purgatory he would have felt ashamed for having such thoughts about his professed nemesis. 

But, given he could never retrieve her, surely it would not hurt to seek certain comforts with another woman... even if it was a woman that made a habit of trying to do him bodily harm on a regular basis. At least she had a perfectly valid reason for trying to do him harm. If she were cruel and menacing it would be an entirely different scenario.

“Then perhaps I should finish it?” Ichabod asked boldly. He rested his hands on her thighs and slid them against her smooth, warm skin until he grasped her hips, underneath the shirt. She hummed softly and rocked again when he arched against her.

“So the colonial man knows what to do with a woman,” she teased.

“Amorous congress is _hardly_ a recent invention,” he pointed out. “I assure you our ancestors partook in it quite frequently.”

“Amorous congress, huh?” the Siren asked. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

For several long moments, they moved against each other in a steady rhythm. The only sound in the room was their heavy breaths and gasps. There was two things that could make the situation even better in Ichabod's opinion... fewer clothes and being buried inside of his beautiful Siren. She ground down against him, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth as she rotated her hips slowly. 

“Good God...” Ichabod groaned. Was he truly so starved for human contact that he was nearing completion with such ease?

Before he could get an answer to his own thought, the Siren leaned over and brushed her lips against his jaw. “Gotta bounce. See ya, Captain.”

“Pardon?” Before he could pull his brain out of its lust-induced fog, she was gone, leaving him very confused and extremely aroused. Ichabod looked around the room, still trying to will his brain to catch up to the current events. When he realized what had happened he turned over and groaned into his pillows with frustration... the pillows that still smelled of _her_.

Oh he could easily allow himself to descend into depravity. Instead he just wrapped his arms around the pillows and breathed her in until his blood cooled and he drifted to sleep. Next time he had the Siren willingly in his room, _in his bed_ , he would certainly not waste the opportunity.

Although, much to his surprise, a few days later... a knock sounded at the door. When he opened the door, his knees nearly gave way at the sight of his wife standing upon the doorstep. “My love...” she said tearfully and rushed forward to embrace him.

He stroked her hair, kissed her temple, took her face in his hands just to make certain she was real. And yes, she was real, she was warm and alive, not some ghostly vision. “How...?” he finally asked.

Katrina searched his face, touched it as though she too was trying to confirm he was real. “A woman... she found me in Purgatory... and brought me here to you, my love.” Confusion riddled her features. “She said you knew her as... Siren?”

Ichabod embraced his wife again, his eyes searching the distance for a moment before seeing the Siren's retreating form.

Of course, the reprieve from his loneliness was temporary. As it turned out... Moloch had wanted Katrina for reasons all his own.


End file.
